


The Closest Thing to Sunrise

by jennygotfamous



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 12:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennygotfamous/pseuds/jennygotfamous
Summary: Spike learnt a lot more from Drusilla than torture. A vampire Xander and magic so old it's practically myth don't make for immediate happy endings.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes the world turned backwards, the monsters really were under your bed, and insanity was the only thing that kept you sane.

It was odd, Spike decided, the things he remembered, and the things he didn't. The things that reminded him of smiles so shy they were painful, and the things that reminded him of a dozen bodies stacked like bowling pins while brown eyes taught him the finer points of posing the dead. Looking down at the broken boy lying so calmly on carpet most likely as old as he was reminded him of neither.

Instead, he couldn't shake the whisper of Drusilla in his ear, cautioning him in a tone so serious that, even as a fledge, barely two days old, he'd memorized the words until whenever she asked he could repeat them back, write them in a dozen different languages.

_"There's a secret, my William, that you must keep close. Daddy wanted me with teeth and snarls and ears that hear. I wanted you with shining eyes and the sharpest teeth, to rip apart the screams that burn my skin_

_"But when you have no use for teeth, only tear-drop eyes and fingers that pray, you must remember the today's gone by, and you must remember that not all shadows are dark._

_"I have no use for kittens without claws, but someday you'll kiss their little paws."_

He watched as bloodied lips said his name;  benediction and blasphemy. Saw the focused look in unfocused eyes and tried to remember why he'd ever thought Drusilla insane when all her whispered words made perfect sense. Kneeling down beside the boy in a mimicry of the prayer he knew that word was meant to be, he held the hand that fluttered towards him like the broken thing it was, and said his own supplication in fangs and blood.

Watching the monster crawl down a quiet throat through slack and bloodied lips Spike felt like he was being ripped in two. A part of himself watched as brown eyes called him saviour and sacrilege, while the rest fell down into the cooling body below.

He felt the rumble before he realised he was growling, demon and the shadow of the man he once was wrestling with so-similar conflicting wants. He felt himself in every drop of blood that made its way through membranes and muscles - felt the body struggle to breathe, and struggle to die.

And then he  **was**  the blood, curling around cells, not to suffocate but to comfort. He shook with the effort to hold, not take, as his demon demanded he devour it all – screamed it’s want until he couldn’t hear the failing heart beat, thin against his wrist.

Still he comforted, quiet words to hold the body close when it finally sighed, brown eyes no longer condemning and sainting in equal measure.


	2. Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's life, and it's death; it's birth.

There wasn't much Spike remembered from his turning. Oh, he remembered the years after, remembered the blood and the laughter and the moon that seemed to burn as bright as a supernova to his new eyes. But he didn't remember the birth from man to demon, for birth it was.

He watched the man lying on familiar old carpet, dead heart crying along with him. The house was still now, the only noise was the never-ending scream that poured out of now dead lips. Soon even that stopped and Spike shuddered in the silence.

Gathering up his hope along with the now tarnished White Knight he didn't look back.

 

 

Bathing the dead had been a tradition that had existed long before him and, though the body in his arms would open its eyes again, it didn't stop him from making every movement precise, making sure to wash away the world from now pale skin.

Brushing gentle fingers through blood-matted hair he hummed a forgotten lullaby and prayed.

 

 

Xander existed in a timeless space. He tried to remember why and when and what but it all seemed to slide away as soon as he thought it. He knew who he was, but not who he had been, knew that there was a difference between good and evil but he was stuck in the grey space; choking on the in-between.

Then he  _saw it-heard it-felt it_ ; formless like he was, but the most substantial thing he knew. And it cried; a mournful sound he felt in non-existent bones.

It was instinct; curling around it to comfort and croon without a mouth words like  _safe_  and  _home_  and _belonging_  - not for the knowledge of everything they weren't, but for the ideal; what they should've been and so were when it was just the two of them in nothingspace.

 

 

Waking was pain. The hiss-sigh of something that sounded like a freight train between his ears and a piercing wail that reverberated through him until it felt like it was trying to punch through his eyes.

Then a softer sound, haunting and so close to his ear that he forgot about everything when the Other told him this was _safehomebelonging_ ; alpha and omega; all.

Eyes still closed he listened to the crooning sound, and the Other whispered words like  _family_  snarling when he remembered who he had been, what family had meant. He started at the _growlsnaprumble_  he felt in his bones, but quieted again when the sound that meant home got slightly louder, drowning it out.

There was another sound, just below the murmur, a  _boomboomswish_  that made the Other keen and  _ache_. Then it was there; shaping into a body and gazing into eyes he didn't remember opening.

The sound that meant family stopped, was replaced by a rumbling growl that the Other echoed. Then it faded, but the ache stayed, the keen a barely-there feeling that resonated through him nevertheless. The growl tapered off, and the Other whimpered when no sound replaced it.

The softest of sounds and then words, "Pet, who am I?"

The Other surged up, running thought after thought over him;  _father, mother, brother, sister; blood and bone and breath and life and_  "Sire."


	3. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When then meets now.

The look was a mix of so many things that the Other struggled to understand. Pride, and hope, and finally, sorrow. It was the last emotion that it latched onto, retreating with a quiet wail and unsure what it’d done wrong. Xander fought for normalcy, needing something familiar while he soothed the Other with quiet thoughts.     
  
“Cheer up Blondie, you’re upsetting it.” He hadn’t realised he’d spoken out loud until blue eyes widened in shock.    
  
He struggled for a moment, the Other demanding respect and utter obedience for the man in front of him, while something left of who he was railed at the idea – fought the thought because he knew what that kind of respect had done for him in the past. The Other didn’t understand, so he pulled up memory after memory, hurling them like poison arrows full of pain.    
  
_Family_  meant bitter words and acidic looks that etched every mistake he’d ever made into his skin.  _Safe_  meant sleeping outside with the demons because it was better than what would happen if he went... in there. And  _belonging_  meant kneeling and begging for it all to just stop, the memory of tearing pain enough to make him gag even now.    
  
Finally the Other understood – caught and magnified the terror until he could hardly think – and all the parts of him flinched away from the soft hand on his arm. The rumbling growl he felt in the back of his throat was a comfort; the Other wrapping around him, hiding him.    
  
The crooning sound came again and he was caught between the memory of what caring meant and the instinctual knowledge that this was what  _safe_  and  _family_  and  _belonging_  were meant to be. The ache was still there, a thorn in his side that he couldn't quite ignore, but he left it to niggle at the back of his mind while he listened to the whisper soft hum. Eyes closed, he listened to the soft noise from beside him and the rumbling growl in his throat that comforted.        
  
  
  
He hadn't realised he'd slept until he woke, eyes snapping open in a panic when he realised he was alone. He clung desperately to the Other, and his throat vibrated with the comfort noise while he swung his wide gaze around the room. Nothing was familiar, the smell of dust and mould making him want to sneeze.    
  
Cocking his head he stopped when the semi-familiar  _boomboomswish_  came closer to the door. He sat as still as he could while the Other  _wanted_ , desperate to reach out and take-own- _devour_  that sound, soothe the constant pain he could feel knotting his insides, sinking claws into his spine.   
  
Then the door was open, and he could feel the Other, straining with the  _wantneed_. Eyes fixed on the open doorway, he flinched away from the cause of the overwhelming desire to  _consume_  when familiar green eyes stared back with tears so close to the surface. He could feel the Other's desire to let rivers flow down their throat, to glut until he could only lie replete.   
  
Panicking he fed memory after memory to it; gentle hand in his hair when he cried, a child bringing him soup when he was too sick to get up, smiling at him with wide-eyed wonder as he read stories to her when she woke from nightmares and he'd been allowed to stay the night. The shift in the Other's perception was almost audible, even the  _boomboomswish_  that had been pounding its way into his head shifted, the ache still there but the sound soothing rather than aggravating.   
  
His smile was more than a little wobbly - half his attention focused on the figure in front of him and half on the Other - but it was genuine, "Hey Wills."


	4. Don't breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needing to breathe doesn't always have to do with oxygen.

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth she was gone, and it took him a second to realise the reality of where he was, and what he was. He struggled to remember the before, but the Other twisted the thought away from him, a demanding feeling of  _protect_ forcing him to shy away from the memories. He was so lost in trying to understand what the Other could be protecting him from that it took him a moment to notice he was no longer alone in the room.   
  
Again the overwhelming feeling of  _safebelongingfamily_  swamped him until he felt like he was drowning and he blinked up into blue eyes. He tried to understand it but the demand to focus elsewhere had him sidestepping the thoughts.   
  
"Whelp." He wasn't sure whether the word was a question or a command.   
  
"Spike?" Some of his confusion must have shown because that lean body was suddenly beside him, wrapping around him in a way that made him feel safer than he had in his entire life.   
  
The words whispered to him were mostly nonsense. The blond called him  _soulseed_ , murmured it in between halting explanations that made no sense and a rolling rumble that left him feeling boneless and serene. Called him  _perfection_ and  _tragedy_ , but while the others seemed to slide away,  _soulseed_ pressed at the edges of his thoughts. So he dreamt of safety in thunderstorms and the promises in whispered nothings.   
  
  
This time when he woke the ache had long since stopped being a quiet request and had turned into a screeching demand, utterly impossible to ignore. Without realising he'd moved he swooped the glass off the bedside table and inhaled the contents. Turning still half asleep eyes to the large glass pitcher that had been sitting beside the glass he filled the cup again and drank.   
  
It was only into his third glass that he realised what he'd been drinking. Watching the remnants of the blood slide around in the glass as he tilted it he tried to understand. More than anything else the lack of taste was confusing. He remembered various fledges and even Spike himself talking about it, exulting in it. While he could admit it was nice, he didn't understand how this could be it - this could be what fuelled the most powerful spells and drove some demons to distraction.   
  
Finishing off the pitcher he easily found the clothes that had been laid out on a chair beside the bed for him. The barest hint of cigarettes and leather lingered on them and the Other purred happily. Making his way downstairs he was surprised to find Willow and Buffy sitting in the lounge room of what he now recognised as the mansion Angel had stayed in.   
  
Suddenly uncomfortable, he skirted both of them and sat in one of the spare chairs closest to the door. He blinked in confusion when they both jumped and stared at him with wide eyes.   
  
"Goddess Xander, you scared us. Are you ok? Are you umm... still, y'know... hungry?" Willow said quickly to try and cover her surprise.   
  
He had so many things to say he didn't even know where to start but what came out was, "Where's Spike?"   
  
Xander could feel the Other shift uncomfortably at the look the two girls shared, only to press his hands against his head at the sheer force of the pain that came from it when Willow replied, "Oh Xander, I'm sorry. Spike. He... He left." 


	5. The slow route to hell

Time was a strange thing to him now. Sometimes he felt like the world was moving through molasses and sometimes - when the Other was railing in his head - he felt like he could barely move fast enough to keep up.   
  
The girls had left shortly after telling him that Spike had gone and he'd been grateful for the quiet. He could almost feel the  _paindespairanger_ that swamped him pressing at the walls of the large mansion. Eating had become a chore he was beginning to abhor. Even normal food had lost some of its lustre. The Other took a grim pleasure in patrolling - though he mostly did it by himself since Buffy set the Other's teeth on edge.   
  
He didn't bother speaking much anymore. To Giles he'd turned into a research project; the only vampire turned who'd kept his soul. To Buffy, he was still her friend. But he was also a vampire and she ended up looking just as twitchy as he felt. To Willow he'd just changed. He wasn't the best friend anymore, he was the vampire who used to be her best friend, no matter that he'd kept his soul. So he was quiet. Brought doughnuts when they asked him to a meeting and patrolled until he had to race back to the mansion to beat the sun.   
  
Through it all was the consistency of the Other, alternately wailing in anguish and flying into rages so strong that he locked himself in the mansion for fear he'd hurt someone. Eventually, both he and It stopped acknowledging the  _ache_ that was hunger, just let it settle like it millions of other twinging pains that he ignored. He stopped patrolling when the Other stopped demanding violence and cursed himself for thinking that maybe this time it would be different and someone would stay.   
  
At first, he'd had trouble moving too fast, constantly scaring the girls by seeming to pop up out of nowhere but now he found himself struggling to keep up. It was only when he'd come back from a Scooby meeting, having barely managed to dust two fledges and so exhausted he could barely walk that he'd remember. The word pounding into his skull until he screamed;  _soulseed_.   
  
  
  
None of the Scoobies came to the mansion except for emergencies, so when he woke to the feeling that someone was in what he may as well call his home, he hurried into a pair of jeans and grabbed a shirt on his way downstairs. Launching down the stairs four at a time he skidded to a stop when he reached the bottom and realised who was standing in the large living room.   
  
The Other was screaming so loud he could barely think, so he stood still and watched the two vampires watch him while he tried to maintain his footing. He knew that if he opened his mouth all that would come out was the growl he could already feel in the back of his throat.   
  
There was a look of identical horror on both faces and a part of him alternately snarled and seemed satisfied with that. Let them look at what he was and be appalled. He was only what he was made to be.   
  
"Pet, what -"   
  
He let loose the growl he'd been desperately holding onto. His hatred for the two vampires that were standing in his home swelled and ripped apart everything that he'd frantically tried to keep buried to the surface, "I'm not, and will never be your pet."   
  
"Xander, you need to -"   
  
He turned his growl to the other vampire, "Fuck you. Get out."


	6. Epiphanies that hurt

The Other was straining inside his head, desperate to tear apart the vampire who'd taken a step forward at the order to leave. He was tired. Weary to his bones and too damn exhausted to try reining it in. The almost imperceptible sound of bones crunching as his face changed was like a gunshot in the sudden silence.   
  
"Get out. Before I throw you out." The words were spoken around a growl that only got louder when a snort met the demand.   
  
"Pet, you couldn't throw a kitten right now."   
  
Again he snarled, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet and let the shirt still held in his hand fall. "I'm not your goddamned pet, your love, your whelp, or your fucking  **soulseed**!"   
  
The second vampire made a move towards him and before he'd had the time to wonder whether it was an attack or not he was moving. Rage fueled him even when his body had been on the brink of collapse for days. Dropping into a roll to avoid outstretched arms he swept up a stake from one of the many hiding spots around the large house and came back to his feet. His steady growl was almost a heartbeat in the silence.   
  
He could see one image after another behind his eyes; imagined blood painting his vision red until he stopped thinking and just  _moved_. It felt like sacrilege, and dying, and like breathing for the first time in a hundred years. He didn't think of the wounds he gained in addition to those that had yet to heal from previous patrols. Gave them only enough consideration to shift his grip on the stake when his fingers fumbled in the slick blood sliding down his arm.   
  
The Other, that had been comfort and solace and all he had left became pure vengeance; snarling in wordless rage at those who would dare to pretend to be  _safefamilybelonging_ then shred his hope into pieces. Xander could feel himself sinking into its bloodlust. Fall into the pain of losing everything and becoming nothing more than a weapon and a research project to those he loved. Felt himself become nothing but grateful violence. Logically, he knew he was fighting with anger rather than finesse. Knew he was outmatched by one of the vampires in front of him, let alone both, and knew he didn't care because he wanted to  _hurt_ them. Hurt  _him_  like Xander had been hurting for so damned long.   
  
He looked through yellow eyes thick with disdain at the two vampires who were trying so hard to both fight him and not injure him. There were small cuts and bruises all over him; a gash on his shoulder from where he'd been thrown into a wall and cut himself on a stray piece of metal, a wrenched ankle, but he knew there should be more. Knew they -  _he_ was trying to pretend that he cared even after he'd left.   
  
He could hear them talking in pacifying tones that were designed to get him to shut up and put up like always, but the Other drowned them out with another heavy growl. He hadn't even seen the brunet move but suddenly he was on his stomach, arms wrenched painfully high behind his back and a heavy knee holding him in place. Both Xander and the Other railed for a moment, furious and anguished and in so much fucking  _pain_  but eventually, even that stopped and he lay as still as only the dead can.   
  
"Stake me or get the hell off me Deadboy, 'cause either way I have nothing to say to you or Billy Biteless over there." 


	7. Home is why the heart aches

He was fury restrained, the Other pouring out anguish and rage in equal measure. Still, he waited - the pain in his arms a background hum - for the moment they forgot the monster for the man's face. Xander could almost feel the Other crowding at the edges of his mind but he lay as still as possible. He knew most of his wrath came from the Other. The anguish was his own. He was nothing more than a research project and pet to the people that had been his family.  
  
He felt the second Angel decided he was complacent and the Other stilled, controlled rage vibrating beneath his skin. Xander felt the weight lift off him but still, he waited. The moment the elder vampire stepped back he struck. Twisting, he lashed out with a foot and felt the impact jar his leg as he hit the kneecap.  
  
Snarling, Xander launched himself towards the door, suddenly desperate to get away, tired of hearing pretty lies that burnt like sunshine. He hadn't gotten three steps before he was picked up and thrown into a wall, screaming in outrage when needle-sharp fangs sliced into the join between neck and shoulder. This time the despair was not just his own as the Other collapsed to mental knees.  
  
Xander could hear nothing but the silence in his own head; drowning under the need to obey that pressed into his flesh through Sire's teeth. Giving in to the exhaustion that had been riding him for weeks he let himself fall and hoped, just for a moment, that he wouldn't regain consciousness.   
  
  
  
Waking was a different kind of pain; the hunger he typically ignored digging its claws into his stomach with a ferocity he'd never felt. Curling in on himself Xander stayed silent as he waited it out, knowing it would fade if he held still for long enough. The growl barely registered as he was hauled upright to stare into furious golden eyes.   
  
The Other was huddled in a corner of his mind, giving off faint waves of  _needtoplease_ and  _abandonment_ so he stared back with tired brown eyes and waited. Sure enough, a mug was thrust into his face moments later and he took it to keep it from spilling. At a pointed look, he swallowed the contents in two gulps, trying not to scream as his body rebelled being given so much so quickly. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he swallowed the second glass given to him and focused on trying not to throw up.   
  
When a third glass was handed to him he felt like crying but the insistent and hated need to  _obeysire_ from the Other had a shaky hand reaching for it. The first swallow had him battling bile, while the second left him sitting as still as possible to try and stop the cramps that forced rapidly cooling blood back up.  
  
"Spike, you're going to make him sick." Welcoming the reprieve, he turned to the brunette vampire in the doorway.   
  
"He's been making himself sick by not eating, Peaches." Came the snarled response.  
  
"And bringing it all back up again isn't going to help him any." He knew he would have been able to feel the tension in the air if he hadn't still been desperately trying to keep his dinner down.  
  
Ignoring the two vampires in favour of the Other he tried to understand the feeling of  _betrayal_ that thundered through his head. Thoughts came sporadically to him as though the Other didn't quite understand the concept of anything but emotion. A feeling of  _belonging_ was followed closely by  _obey,_ then  _despair_ right on its tail. Pushing a few feelings of his own back he eventually figured out why the Other felt like it was dying.   
  
Spike hadn't bitten him for any sense of family or to calm him until they could talk; he'd bitten him simply to control him. To own him like you'd own a hunting dog. He was expected to say _yessir_ _nosir threebagsfullsir._  To shut up and take it. Again. A million days of feeling the Zeppo and his more recent ostracization from his may-as-well-be family bubbled up. Bitter hatred flooded the room in the shape of a snarl, and he ignored the answering growls.  
  
"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on Spike. Or should that be 'vampire you rode in on'? I'm not your pet and, even if I have to stake myself, I'll never be your twice damned childe."


	8. Slow motion car crashes

The Other was flooding him with thoughts of  _fear_  and  _obey_  and  _SIRE_  so strong that he had a hard time focusing on anything, but it didn't lessen his fury any. He was so fucking tired and now the only thing that had kept him going was cowering behind him. He knew that most of the reason behind his anger came from the Other - more concept than solid thought - but Xander just wanted this done and the vampires in the room gone.   
  
"You'll obey me if I have to beat it into you, whelp." Rationality told him to be fearful of that tone. What was left of him was far from rational and he found himself laughing instead.   
  
"You've done a fantastic job of that with _It_ , it's me that's left, Spike. I may not be their Xander anymore, but do you really want to see what'll happen if I turn up at Buffy's house with bruises all over me and say they're from you?" He was still laughing but his words were full of malice.   
  
"Spike, go downstairs." Xander focused his gaze on the other brunette vampire in the room, completely ignoring his own surprise when the blonde did as he was told.   
  
"What do you mean "it", Xander?" The tone was too similar to the one Giles used when Xander did something out of the ordinary.  
  
"Going to 'study' me too, Deadboy?" He sneered, "I'm not your research project."  
  
"I'm not trying to study you. I just need to know what's going on to try and help you and Spike." Angel's face had settled into a confused frown.  
  
"I don't give a shit what you're doing with Spike, but I don't need your help." He was on the edge of something, he knew, but the anger was easier than trying to figure it out.   
  
"Spike has gone to great lengths -" Xander knew if he heard the rest of that sentence he was going to do something he may just regret later, so cut off the other man before he could finish.  
  
"Spike  _left_. He hasn't done shit. Now get out."  
  
"He had to leave." This time Xander laughed hard enough he didn't even have to cut Angel off, the vampire just stopped talking and looked at him worriedly.  
  
The Other had come back to itself enough to growl at that pathetic explanation, so he sat on the bed and laughed with a growl sitting low in his chest. He knew the other brunette probably thought he was insane but couldn't find it within himself to care. Finally, the laughter tapered off but the growl remained, and he looked at the souled vampire with yellow eyes.  
  
"There's no reason for you to be here Angel. Whatever pom-pom you're waving on Spike's behalf, I don't care." He just wanted it over and everyone gone.   
  
"You're killing yourself." Xander tried to care. He knew he was running himself ragged but eventually found himself settling for a shrug when it seemed like the other vampire wasn't going to say anything more until he came up with some kind of response.  
  
This time the growl wasn't his own. Barely seconds later he found himself picked up and slung over a shoulder. Snarling he tried to twist out of the grip even as he felt them moving. One large hand had his wrists pinned behind his back, the other wrapped around his knees to stop him from using his legs. Still struggling he watched as the ground changed to pavement.   
  
He knew the moment they stopped where they were and stilled. Yellow eyes bled to brown as he was set down and shoved unceremoniously through the doorway. His growl was too low for human ears, but seeing familiar red hair made him swallow even that.   
  
"Angel, what on earth are you doing?" Giles' voice was sharp with reproof.  
  
"There are a few things you've neglected to tell Xander amidst all your research." Angel's voice was sharper; diamonds on glass.  
  
"What on earth are you -"  
  
"Soulseeding. Explain it. Now."  
  



	9. Follow me down

"Soulseeding? That's just a myth." Giles dismissed at once, turning worried but curious eyes on Xander.   
  
The Other could feel Spike barely a foot behind him and he focused on that rather than the _lab rat_ feeling Giles' look gave him. When Angel put him down it took him an embarrassingly long moment to get his feet back, and he tried to cover it with a glare at the brunette vampire. Knowing he wouldn't be allowed to leave until they'd done everything but the actual autopsy Xander tried to ignore his resentment and curled up in the corner of the couch.   
  
He could feel Willow's horrified curiosity, and without thinking the Other let loose a growl. A sadistic part of him chuckled when all the non-vampires in the room jumped. The rest was sick of being studied and tiredly grateful for the reprieve.   
  
"It's not a bloody myth, Watcher. Now explain it to the boy." Spike's voice made the Other both want to crawl to him for comfort... and rip him limb from limb.   
  
Compromising by doing nothing, Xander didn't raise his head at the familiar sound of glasses being polished. He was focusing so intently on the Other's turbulent emotions that it took him several moments to realise Giles was speaking.   
  
"Soulseeding is...  _ancient_ magic. The myth states that if the soul can be captured right at the moment of death, it's possible to... well... effectively transplant it into another body, keeping the original soul alive. The only time it was tried the... host - for lack of a better word - went mad. Most speculate it is because one body was not meant to house two souls and the war between the two for dominance drives the consciousness to insanity."  
  
There was a heavy silence for several moments before Giles spoke again, "Soulseeding is nothing but a fable, there is no possible way for it to work successfully."  
  
Spike's snort was full of meaning. Xander could almost smell the desperate fury in the air and the Other rumbled discontentedly.   
  
" _That_ is not Xander, and soulseeding is not possible." There was the very faintest of breezes when Giles gestured wildly towards him.  
  
Xander didn't try and stop the malicious smile that crept across his face, the Other almost purring at the sudden stench of fear that rose off the Watcher. He could see the dawning horror spread across that spectacled face; knowledge that the vampire he'd been treating with a clinical attachment at best was still a Scooby slackening his features.   
  
Part of wanted to say it was ok and take that look away. The rest of him was sick of feeling like a test subject, sick of being nothing but an extra pair of arms and a specimen to observe. He could almost feel the Other magnifying the feeling into something hard and cold and let himself sink under it.   
  
"If it walks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck..." Xander snarled softly and let his sentence trail off but the vicious smile stayed in place as the older man backed up slightly.   
  
"It's not possible." Another voice spoke up and Xander didn't turn to the redhead.  
  
"And why, pray-tell, is that, Red?" The disgusted sneer in Spike's voice was a palpable thing.   
  
"Because my Xander wouldn't ever have that look on his face." There was a naive certainty in that statement that made Xander pull the Other back, swallowing the growl before it could tumble into the air.   
  
He knew he needn't have bothered as soon as the blonde vampire stepped forward with a look of utter contempt on his face. " _Your_ Xander hmm? Oh, I can see how well you take care of your things, little witch. Half starved with nothing but blood gone rancid to feed him. Not that he does eat. But you wouldn't know that would you? Too busy telling yourself that he's someone different. Someone you owe no allegiance to, no fealty. Tell me, when was the last time you saw him drink anything?"  
  
The look on Willow's face was one of disgust, and Xander had the sudden desire to be anywhere else before she answered. Focusing desperately on the Other in a bid to drown out the sound of her words he flinched as they cut into him.  
  
"That's disgusting Spike. Why would I  _watch_ him eat? And he's quite capable of getting his own blood from the butchers if he's hungry." Green eyes spit fire at blue and the once-White-Hat just wanted it all over so he could go home and sleep.  
  
"He watches you lot stuff food in your gob whenever you're hungry, doesn't he?" The challenge was quite obvious.   
  
"That's  _different_." The absolute certainly made the Other roar and it wasn't until the stunned silence surrounded him that he realised the sound had rumbled out of his chest. 


	10. When the world falls away

“Oh it’s always  _different_  for you, little witch. You’re the martyrs, aren’t you? White Hats Supreme. Ever stop to think that he was a little  _too_  human? A little _too_  like the Xander you knew and claimed to love? He not only kept his soul, you stupid children, He’s still him. The demon is an extra, but it hasn’t changed who he was or is. Soulseeding isn’t a myth, Watcher, it’s real, and that boy is proof.” Spike’s words were acid; tearing through the layers of denial and self-righteousness colouring the air until all Xander could smell was shame.  
  
The Other was a constant presence in his head; an overpowering scent like lemon that demanded pain. Demanded to see them hurting as he had. Struggling to control it and his overwhelming desire to just be  _elsewhere_ , he held still. The fight raged over his head; barbed words flung and scattering like shrapnel. As the words rose so did the Other, snarling its fury and flexing mental claws until Xander could feel the edges of his mind fraying.   
  
Running for the door, he barely managed to stop long enough to open it rather than go straight through and then he was outside, pounding down the street. The  _lub-dub_  of heartbeats slowly faded as he made his way through one of the older cemeteries. The Other wanted to scream and wanted to forget. Most of all it wanted to tear limb from limb until it could drown everything in the need for violence and blood.   
  
The soft  _snap-crunch_  of bone shifting was loud as a scent curled around him. Turning to face it, he snarled. He was tired of being called a monster. Tired of the subtle flinches and wary eyes that greeted him whenever he was near those he’d called family. And he was tired of the incessant wailing of the Other whenever he so much as thought about Spike, so he let the demon show itself and exalted in it’s raging hatred.  
  
Xander wasn’t surprised to find the blond standing a short way off, nor was he surprised by the look of horrified wonder - it was an expression that Giles seemed to wear constantly. He was surprised, however, that Spike hadn’t had the forethought to come armed.   
  
“Unless you’re here to tell me you’ll let the door hit you on the way out, I have nothing to say to you.” The words were almost more than he could manage, but some small part of the Other, and perhaps of himself as well, felt the need to give Spike an out.   
  
“I’m not leaving, pet.” The words were soft, but the wail from the Other echoed.  
  
“I. am. not. your. _pet._ ” He could feel his face flickering while he struggled to keep from simply charging and ripping the man in front of him into pieces.   
  
“You are mine, Xander, you know that. So does the demon inside you.” It occurred to him - with the Other’s fury riding his skin - that he didn’t understand why he held back, why he was still waiting.   
  
Ignoring the blond he turned to the Other, wanting the seething anger that seemed to be slipping away under Spike’s gaze. The feelings were soft, still tinged with hatred but there.  _Family_  and  _belonging_  followed by _betrayal_  and a _helplessness_  so strong it made him stagger and stare at the blond with hurt eyes.   
  
While Xander could hate the vampire in front of him, and the Other could rage against its ownership - abhor it even - it could never truly loathe the other vampire. So while the brunet’s eyes could spit fire, he knew that if Spike said jump he would still have his knees halfway bent before telling him to go to hell.   
  
He could hear Spike saying something - excuse or damning truth, he didn’t care - he simply turned and ran. A small part of him wondered when he’d stopped being the one things ran from in his new existence and started being the thing that ran, but most of him was drowning under the feeling of helplessness his revelation had unearthed.   
  
There were footsteps behind him and shouted words but he ignored them all for the staccato rhythm of his feet hitting the soft earth. He hadn’t gone far before arms curled around him, jerking him to a stop suddenly but not harshly.   
  
“Damn it, you stubborn sod, would you listen for once?” The blond was yellow-eyed and obviously furious and while he wanted to match that fury the Other now refused anything but tired acceptance.   
  
Drooping in the uncompromising arms of what could laughably be called his Sire, Xander looked back with exhausted brown eyes. “What do you want, Spike?”  
  
“What I want, you great galloping git, is for you to listen to me for five seconds and stop running off. Christ, if Red had just done what I asked her to do in the first place I wouldn’t need to go over all this shite.” The anger in that statement made the Other rise up slightly, but it all faded back into acceptance within moments.   
  
Surprisingly, one of the hands that held him began a comforting circle on his back. “Know that leaving the way I did was probably a balls-first way to go about the whole thing, but I didn’t have much of a choice, pet.”  
  
Again he growled at the use of the endearment.  
  
Unfortunately, the blond continued regardless of the interruption, “Soulseeding does what the Watcher said it does; keeps a soul alive. Though the Council of Asshats went about it all wrong, thinking to stick it in another body. It worked on you because it was done with your own body. You died, and the demon brought you back, so the soul could go back in the same body.”  
  
“What's your point, bleach?” He may not be angry, but Xander was still too stubborn to just give in.  
  
Something in the blond’s arms seemed to give but he didn’t move, “Imagine a demon who creates another demon and leaves the soul intact. Something the revels in destruction, and anarchy, and chaos creating a demon with a soul so inherently good that it shines like the sodding aurora borealis.”  
  
Whether it was the exhaustion or the constant hunger that had become as familiar to him as not breathing, he didn’t know. What Xander did know was that the desire to destroy something like that was all-consuming; the Other crowding his mind until he could barely think. Memories and thoughts trickled over his skin until he turned to face Spike with dawning comprehension.   
  
“You want me dead.” 


	11. Shadows and dust

The Other was so caught between conflicting emotions that Xander felt like his head was going to explode. As soon as the words had come out of his mouth  _fear, rage, shame_ and  _anguish_ were all battering at his mind. The emotions were so strong that if he’d had both a mirror and a reflection he would have seen the shift between human and demon changing so rapidly that his features became indistinguishable; blurred and slightly ethereal.   
  
Reflexively, the heels of his hands went to his temples and he curled in on himself as he desperately tried to deal with the flood of emotion. The first touch on his shoulder had Xander flinching away but something in the Other needed the caress, craved the stability it offered.  
  
Warring with himself, it took several long minutes before he realised that the familiar comfort-sound wasn’t coming from within. Was, in fact, coming from Spike who was crouched just far enough away to give the brunet some desperately needed space. The Other battered at his mind, demanding he crawl to the safety he knew that sound meant while what was left of his mind refused, so tired of being the one to beg. Eventually, he stretched out one hand ever so slightly, a look of pain on his face.   
  
“Oh, love.” Said so quietly he barely heard it and suddenly there was a hand in his, clutching tightly.   
  
“Why’d you do it, Spike? Make me something my friends can’t stand? Turn me into some kind of sideshow freak? Do you hate me that much?” He was tired, weary to the point that sleeping just made the exhaustion worse, and desperate. So desperate for some kind of peace.   
  
“Pet, it was never meant to be like this.”  
  
His laughter was a physical pain, “Only I could fuck up dying.”  
  
The growl caught him off guard and his head snapped up despite the pain, staring into furious yellow eyes.  
  
“We’ve tried this your way whelp, now we do it mine. Get up.” The hand he hadn’t realised he was clutching slid away and Xander began to pant, trying to get through the sudden overwhelming fear at that small abandonment.   
  
Slowly amber bled into cobalt, “Xander, I’m not going anywhere, but I need you to get up.”  
  
Too drained to bother with a retort the brunet attempted to get to his feet. With the Other hidden so far in the back of his mind - still reeling over the tidal wave of self-hatred and disgust - he found it impossible. Stumbling before he was even close to upright, brown eyes looked to blue.   
  
“I can’t.” He’d meant simply that his state of fatigue didn’t leave him with enough strength but when he said it again it meant so much more, “I can’t, Spike.”  
  
“Foolish boy,” Too much affection in the words for them to be any kind of criticism.  
  
Then there were strong arms around him and he was lifted against a solid chest. Again the comfort-sound that meant everything, only this time he was close enough that he could feel the rumble of it spread throughout his body.   
  
Self-preservation said he needed to stay awake, that the only time he was ever really safe was when he knew he was alone and locked in the mansion but the demands he’d made on his body in the last 24 hours took their toll and before Spike was out of the cemetery he was somewhere between unconscious and asleep.


	12. Darkness is the only sound

Waking was pain. Waking was always pain, but this time it seemed… lessened somehow. And sharper for its lack of severity. Gasping at the ever-present gnawing hunger in his gut, Xander flailed desperately for the Other. The gasp turned into panted breaths when he realised it was still too far consumed with self-hatred for the small comfort it normally gave. Then soft-hard arms were around him and  _that_ sound was thrumming through his body, soothing both himself and the Other.   
  
“Xander, I need you to listen. Are you listening, pet?” Nodding, he didn’t bother to argue over the use of the nickname.   
  
“I need the demon… “It”, whatever you call it, I need it present. Is it in there, love?” This time he did tense but a look into blue eyes had him warily nodding.   
  
“It’s… in here, just not…” He struggled to find the right words, “It’s always here, just not very… close at the moment.”  
  
“Is there,” Xander could see from the look on Spike’s face that he wasn’t going to like the request, “is there any way to bring it closer?”  
  
“It…  _He_ ,” The brunet suddenly decided, feeling wrong that something so integral to who he was now was being referred to as an “it”, “is attempting to… fit the way things are into his understanding. I don’t think it’d be a good idea to try and force him at the moment.”  
  
The response was cagey at best and Spike knew if he wasn’t careful he’d lose the minute amount of camaraderie they'd developed, “Right, well let’s just give him a bit then, ey? And let’s give you a bit of something to eat. Look like you’re about to keel over.”  
  
Xander had to try hard not to snort at that. A macabre sense of amusement snickered at the idea of the vampire in front of him killing him again. And the idea of a new level of “overkill” had him chuckling out loud. Obviously, not the best thing to do since concerned cobalt eyes were making their way back to what he now realised was his bed in the mansion.  
  
“Something amusing, pet?” Spike’s face was light-hearted and open, obviously wanting to share in whatever amused the brunet, while his eyes were worried; concerned that Xander had finally given over to insanity.  
  
“Overkill.” Was all he said, and the troubled look was starting to outweigh the smile.  
  
Waiving a hand as if to wipe the comment from the air, Xander struggled to sit up. As soon as Spike stepped forward to help brown eyes snapped up and a growl rumbled out of his chest.  
  
“I’m not a child.” The Other had come forward, trailing distress in its wake at the perceived threat to  _Sire_ and the brunet growled again, unaware of the shift to demon and back again.  
  
“Know you’re not a child, pet -”  
  
The oh-so-careful tone of voice combined with that nickname had animosity coming back full force, the growl quickly evolving into a fully-fledged snarl.  
  
“My  _name_ is Xander. Not pet, not love, not whelp, sure as hell not fucking  _soulseed_. **Xander**.” The words were barely understandable, spoken through curled lips and again the shift from human to demon and back again as the other became steadily more unstable at the thought of hurting Spike.  
  
“I know that lo – Xander, I’m just -” Again he was cut off.  
  
“Just nothing Spike. You say I’m an abomination, I already knew that. You say you had to leave so you wouldn’t, what? Kill me? Nothing new there. You’ve already done it once, what’s a second time for good luck? Way I see it you’re back for one reason and one reason only, and that’s to finish the job you fucked up the first time. So get it over with or get out.”  
  
He could feel the Other wailing in his mind and hurled painful thought after painful thought at it until eventually, it retreated, keening in pain. Rolling out of bed and onto shaky legs he snatched up the stake that was on the bedside table. Slapping it into a pale hand he stepped close enough to feel the point catch on his skin, glaring into now yellow eyes.  
  
Faster than even he could follow the stake was thrown and embedded in the wall. This time the snarl didn’t come from him and he found himself slammed up against the wall, Spike’s furious face inches from his own.   
  
“I don’t have to make you like this,  _childe_. I could chain you to the bed right now; claim you in blood and pain so agonising you wouldn’t know anything but my name. And you know what the demon in you would do?  _Beg_ me for more.”


	13. Fragile things

He should be afraid. The old Xander would be simultaneously trying very hard not to piss his pants and babbling out a stream of self-deprecating jokes in an attempt to distract and evade. Instead, he just stood there with a demon snarling into his face, feeling so damn tired. A small part – possibly what may have been left of his sanity - wondered if Spike was going to kill him. The rest of him was so far past caring that all he wondered with any real interest was whether, if Spike went through with his threat, he could disappear under the Other and not have to worry anymore.   
  
He wasn’t the old Xander. He wasn’t a proper vampire. He wasn’t sure what he was, and honestly, more than all that... he wasn’t sure he cared.   
  
“Will you?” There was almost no inflection on his words, the curiosity so mild it may not have even been present at all but for the slightest tilt of his head.   
  
As he watched yellow eyes bled back to blue in the demon face and Xander couldn’t help but find it both beautiful and grotesque, that mesh of human and something clearly not.  
  
“No.” Where his voice had been empty Spike’s was full of so much that he couldn’t hope to even begin to understand the emotions.   
  
“Then let me go.” Again the nothing feeling seeping into his words, soaking into his whole body until the numb sensation was almost as much of a comfort as the purr from the Other.   
  
He could feel the cushion-y edges of that nothingness warp slightly when a pale hand slid slowly away from where he only just now realised it pressed against his neck with a caress that felt too close to caring for comfort.   
  
“What happened, pet?” He knew Spike didn’t mean now; what he meant to say was  _what happened to you_.  
  
“I died.” Too simple an answer, but explaining the ache in his gut that felt like it was going to swallow him whole was too complex for words.  
  
“No, it’s more than that. Tell me, Xander. Please?” It was the please that got him. The brunet could handle Asshole-Spike, but that so open word with its pleading to understand tripped him up and he found the words tumbling out before he realised he’d said anything.  
  
“I died. To them, I died. I’m not Xander anymore to any of them. I’m the evil thing that took his face. Before I didn’t have much, but my friends… they were family. And now they look at me like I’m… disgusting. Evil. I don’t feel evil Spike. I don’t feel anything. I just want to go  _home_.”  
  
He didn’t want home as it was, he wanted home as it should be. Home as it felt when he was trapped in that nothing-space before he woke up at the beginning of all this. Before the world fell apart around him. He wanted  _safehomebelonging_.  
  
“I want it to be how it’s supposed to be.” The numb feeling bent. Broke. He felt raw and just a little scared.   
  
“Xander, come here?” It wasn’t an order, it was a request and he curled up in the blond’s lap, the pair of them tucked firmly against the headboard of the bed.   
  
“When I left, I did it because I didn’t want to lose you. Knew what you were before you woke, didn’t I? Asked the witch to tell you I was coming back, but I probably didn’t explain it to well. Hard to think when there’s a demon hammering in your head, yeah? I needed to see Angel; I needed to find out how he’d managed to get the soul and the demon to… coexist. Didn’t want to leave you, but I didn’t want to hurt you either, and that’s what I would’ve done if I stayed.  
  
“I don’t want to own you, Xander, despite what that demon in your head’s whispering in your ear. I turned you because I wanted… I wanted to save you.” The laughter was harsh, a bark of sound that some part of the brunet that wasn't the Other ached to soothe.  
  
Without realising it, he began a soft patting motion on the other man’s chest. He paid close attention to the subtle vibrations as Spike spoke, and finally, Xander listened.   
  
“Know I ballsed it up, got to remember my sire was a few cards short of a full deck yeah? Learnt soulseeding from her, so it was pretty much certain not to go like peaches and cream. Shouldn’t have bitten you before, but I… bloody hell love, you should have seen yourself, _see_ yourself. You’re skin and bones. One good puff of wind and you’ll blow away.   
  
“I was too busy worrying about you hurting yourself,” A black polished finger tapped lightly at his chest, “to think about how I was hurting you.” Another gentle tap, feather-light, against his temple.   
  
Things weren’t alright. He was still in so many pieces Xander wasn’t sure which way was up, but when he tilted his head slightly to leave his neck exposed he felt the world shift a little bit closer to centre.   
  
“Xander?” That accent, so soft and desperate not to do the wrong thing again found the first piece of whoever he was now and held it carefully.   
  
There was only one way to answer,  _“Home.”_


End file.
